Dear Theodosia
by staringatjupiter
Summary: Theodosia Burr has always considered Philip Hamilton an acquaintance at most. Warned by her father, she has always kept her distance from the Hamiltons. That is, until a serendipitous walk allowed her and Philip to connect in an unexpected way.
1. Prologue

Theodosia Burr has always considered Philip Hamilton an acquaintance at most. Warned by her father, she has always kept her distance from the Hamiltons. That is, until a serendipitous walk allowed her and Philip to connect in an unexpected way.

If Theodosia had blinked, she would have missed it. That is how quick and fleeting it was. However, it was real*. This is their brief, subtle story, one that took place before life –or, more accurately, death– got in the way.

*It was not, at all. Please, check the disclaimer.

Disclaimer:

This is wildly historically inaccurate. The succession of events as presented in this fanfic is based in that of Hamilton: an American Musical. I also took a lot of creative liberties (for instance, Theodosia's mother is still alive in this, and the characters' speech and language is way more contemporary than not, a little nod to how the musical is written. Except that this is meh, and the musical is genius. Clearly.)

This is just for fun and because I'm Philidosia trash. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 1

I gave myself a last glance in the mirror before going downstairs, where I was supposed to meet my parents.

The dress was cream colored, with a lovely, delicate floral pattern along the sleeves and the edges of the skirt. My hair was pulled back, but I'd manage to leave a couple of strands loose around my face to frame it. I pinched my cheeks several times trying to get them to become rosy. Other than that, there was not much more I could do. I took myself in one last time and hurried down the hallway and the stairs. There, my father was waiting.

"Are you ready, dear?"

I nodded and he looked at me as a smile began to show in his face.

"You look so much like your mother, it's unbelievable," he said.

"I can only wish for that to be true," I replied. My mother was a woman of undeniable beauty, one she carried effortlessly. That was not my case at all.

"Of course it is," Dad said back. "Now, where's your mother? We'll be late if we don't leave soon."

"I'm here, dear," my mother emerged from the upper floor and down the stairs. Like always, she looked stunning, and as elegant as ever. My father looked at her with awe, the same way he always had, ever since I could remember.

Mom reached for Dad's hand to descend the stairs, and I could notice how she squeezed it a couple of times just after she looked at me.

"Theo, you look beautiful, dear," she said.

"Thank you, Mom."

"Your father and I will have to be attentive to the large number of suitors that will surely come to you tonight," she smiled.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," I said, matter-of-factly.

Still, Mom and Dad exchanged a knowing glance while we headed towards the door.


	3. Chapter 2

It was a lovely evening. The attendees were the usual ones, those one could expect considering the kind of people my father knew in the city. There were very well renowned families, members of the high society and of course, many of my father's fellow politicians.

I had already been assisting to social events with my family for a couple of years, so I had a relative idea of what to expect. I knew which families I could always count on seeing, I knew how I was supposed to say hello, I knew what to ask them about, and how to keep the conversation short and cordial.

I had also learned which of my father's work mates he had a higher liking of, and which he had… history with. Of course, this did not change the way Mom or I would treat them at social gatherings. Rather the contrary, Mom always seemed to be able to look past those silly disagreements.

That's why, when we saw the Hamiltons across the room, we knew exactly what to do.

Of all the labor relations of my father, the one that has suffered the most instability is that with Mr. Hamilton. It is truly impossible to keep up with the amount of times they have bickered, only for them to probably reconcile afterwards. Their relationship oscillates from being a vague annoyance to each other to disagreeing strongly on a way they would approach a certain subject to finding enough in common that they consider themselves friends. The terms they might be in whenever we coincide in one of these balls are a true lottery.

Anyway, whichever the circumstance, Mom always knew how to navigate it. It helps that Mrs. Hamilton seems to see their bickering the same way we do, and as a result, Mom and Mrs. Hamilton would usually end up laughing at their husbands' latest fit, when necessary.

We approached the table where the Hamiltons were seated. Mom and I said a quick hello to Mr. Hamilton and soon after, Dad and him wandered off talking about work, themselves, or both. We stayed with Mrs. Hamilton looking at the pair.

"Well, look at them getting along. Quite a sight," said Mom.

"Could it be that they're finally growing up?" said Mrs. Hamilton, with a light chuckle.

"I sure hope so," replied Mom. "Sometimes I think he gives me more work than Theodosia."

"Tell me about it. I know for a fact mine gives me more work than our seven children."

I looked behind Mrs. Hamilton, towards the table her family was sitting at, and realized, of the ones that were old enough to attend, all but one of her children were there.

"Who by the way, Eliza, must be so grown up! How old is James already?"

I soon lost track of the conversation Mom was having with Mrs. Hamilton in favor of the one that I was having with my own self in my mind.

Philip, the oldest of the Hamilton children, was the exact same age as me. We had known each other since our early childhoods, from the many times we would coincide at our father's offices downtown. I don't remember exactly when we met or how many times we had seen one another, but I do remember considering him an acquaintance.

Once we became old enough to attend balls, dinners, and social gatherings it was usual to find him in them, although our encounters never exceeded from a polite greeting. Could he be here tonight? When was the last time I had seen him?

"… And I wish I could show you how tall Philip is, more than his father at this point."

The mention of his name pulled me out of my daydream. I listened to Mrs. Hamilton as she continued:

"He must be here somewhere. We lost him a while ago among the crowd, but I'm sure you'll see him soon. Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "Theodosia, you look beautiful tonight. I can't believe the young women you've become. It seems like only yesterday your mother would carry you in her arms around the offices downtown," Mrs. Hamilton said sweetly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. Time does fly indeed." I could feel my mother gush with pride next to me.


	4. Chapter 3

So far, the night had passed with relative uneventfulness. Most of it, I had either accompanied Mom to our round of mandatory hellos, danced or gone to chat with my own friends, mostly daughters of people Mom and Dad were acquainted with, who were close to my age.

As Mrs. Hamilton had predicted, I did see Philip from afar at one point. However, he had not seen me. He was talking entertainingly with a pair of young women I'm sure I knew from somewhere. It did seem like he had grown a couple of inches since the last time I saw him. Either that, or the confidence with which he carried himself allowed him to overshadow the people with whom he was.

But then again, he always seemed confident. It was inherent of him.

Once the evening becomes a little too much for me, I usually like to take a break from the madness and wander around the gardens for a while. This was a habit hard to break, especially upon the realization that the gardens surrounding the ballrooms we usually attended were of captivating beauty. The moonlight allowed for the water in the fountains to shine with special brightness, and for the flowers to bloom delicately. Their magnificence was not so obvious at nighttime, since their colors were not able to vibrate the same way they could under the sun, but they were still a force to be reckoned with.

I was looking at the peonies when I heard someone approaching me. Well, not me, rather, they were approaching the area I was in. They did not even seem to notice me.

By the time the silhouette was close enough to me, it was clear who it was.

"Mr. Hamilton," I said, accompanying my greeting with a curtsy.

"Miss Burr," he responded, realizing my presence. "I didn't even see you there."

"Oh, well, admittedly, I was somewhat hidden. I like checking on theses flowers a little too much for my own good."

"They are quite nice," he paused. "Wait, Miss Burr, does that mean you know your way around this garden?"

"I guess I do."

"So perhaps you could help me?"

"Depends, on what?"

"I need to find a rose."

"Well, the roses are a little further on the back. Come, I'll show you."

With that, we both began to walk, Philip following my stride. With every step, curiosity took a bit more of me. What did he need a rose for?

The only thing stopping me from asking was the idea my father wouldn't like it. I could almost picture him disapproving of it in my mind. He had always taught me to be discrete, especially around the Hamiltons.

Still, we were a couple of steps away from our destiny and my interest couldn't be diminished.

"What is it for, if I may ask?"

"Uh," he stumbled to find an answer. "It's for a… friend."

With that, I understood it all. I should have known, after all, that was the kind of person Philip was: one with many _friends_. Lady friends, at that.

"Oh. Well then, you've come to the right place. The roses here are the most beautiful I've ever seen," I said with a smile, as we finally approached them.

"Now, I guess you would want one that's fully bloomed," I found one resembling what I was thinking of and pointed it to him. "Perhaps this one?"

"Yes, I think that one would work," he paused, studying it carefully. "You like it, right?"

"Well, personally, I would go for something like an aster, as they're sweet rather than purely romantic. But that's just me. Objectively, a rose like this is lovely."

"Perfect," Philip said, as he tore it. "Thank you very much, Miss Burr."

With this, he bowed and hurried inside. I was left looking at him as he walked away, trying to understand what had just occurred.


	5. Chapter 4

It was a misty, crisp morning. I joined Mom for breakfast, but Dad was nowhere in sight.

"Mom, why isn't Dad joining us?"

"He had to leave early for work, dear. He had some urgent matters to attend."

"Is everything alright?"

"Regarding your father, yes. It's nothing concerning him."

"Then what is it?"

My mother sighted.

"It's Mr. Hamilton, dear," she lamented. "He… published something yesterday."

She must have taken pity in my puzzled expression, because she got up and walked towards my father's home office. When she came back, she was holding a booklet, which she handed to me. I reached for it and read.

 _Observations on Certain Documents Contained in No. V & VI of "The History of the United States for the Year 1796,"_

 _In which the Charge of Speculation Against Alexander Hamilton, Late Secretary of the Treasury, is Fully Refuted_

 _Written By Himself_

After I was done reading, all I could think of was of poor Mrs. Hamilton and their children. Especially those who were old enough to understand.


	6. Chapter 5

It was later that day. I was reaching for my coat and getting ready to leave the house, when I walked past the entrance to our drawing room. As I did, I heard my mother call from inside.

"Theo, where are you going?"

I peeked my head through the entryway.

"I thought about taking a stroll around the park, Mom. I could use it… my head hasn't stopped buzzing since this morning."

"Very well, dear. Just be careful and don't come back too late."

As she said it, I could notice a heaviness in her eyes and a general weariness in her expression. Starting to worry about her, I approached her. I stood in front of her where she was sitting inside the room.

"Mom, are you alright? Would you prefer it if I stayed here with you?"

"No, Theo, don't worry about me. I just… haven't stopped thinking about Eliza since your father told me the news last night. I can't imagine how she must feel."

"I have also had her in my mind all day."

She sighed.

"When your father comes home this evening, we must embrace him a little tighter than usual. We're lucky that ours is such a good man."

"I agree," I said as I nodded, absentmindedly.

"Now go, dear. Take care."


	7. Chapter 6

The weather hadn't gotten any better. The sky looked completely white, as did almost everything else due to the fog. The air was cold and cutting, which encouraged me to walk at a fast pace to warm myself. This was what I needed to get any intrusive thoughts out of my head.

With every step I took, and with every one of my breaths, I felt how the caged energy inside of me would find a release. I was walking along the line of trees that traced the park's walkway, and every tree I saw passing by like a blurry shadow out of the corner of my eye made me feel like I was leaving a burden behind.

At some point, driven by fatigue, I slowed down. I began to catch my breath and give slower, shorter steps. Still, I approached the trees one by one, given the fact that the fog didn't let me see anything further than what was immediately in front of me.

That is why, when I saw Philip Hamilton sitting at the foot of the tree I was walking towards, I was truly taken aback.

He was already looking at me, and he was quick to get on his feet and bow.

"Miss Burr," he greeted me.

"Mr. Hamilton," I curtseyed. "I am glad to see you."

"Likewise," he replied, with little to no enthusiasm, and reasonably so. I couldn't even imagine what he was going through, but his face gave some indication of it. He had circles under his eyes. They also looked heavy, as if he hadn't gotten any sleep recently, which seemed like a very probable scenario.

The pause in our conversation was starting to become evident and awkward, but I truly didn't know what to say. Should I even say something? Should I pretend I didn't know? Should I just mutter a goodbye and continue my way?

In the end, the defeated expression with which his face was plastered was what compelled me to speak.

"I… I… am so sorry about what happened, Mr. Hamilton," I said sheepishly.

He didn't seem to know what to say, either.

"Thank you, Miss Burr."

"I… My thoughts are with all of you. I… don't really know what to say."

"That's alright. None of us do."

His head hung low this time. I compared the sight of him that was in front of me against the confident, enthusiastic Philip I had known so far. It was such a contrast.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

He seemed to think. That surprised me, as I was expecting a polite no for an answer, one that wouldn't require that much thought. Ultimately, he replied:

"Could I join you in your walk?"

"Of course," I responded.

I was happy to help him in whatever way I could. However, as we took our first steps together, I began to worry about what we could talk about during our stroll.

That is, if he even wanted to talk. Perhaps he was expecting me not to say much?

Thankfully, Philip spoke soon enough, which put my thoughts to a halt.

"Miss Burr, do you remember how we would always run into each other at our father's offices?"

A nostalgic, sad smile drew itself across his face. I smiled back.

"Of course. Remember how our parents would leave us alone to entertain ourselves?"

"I do," he chuckled. "I remember we would compete to see who knew the most Latin."

"Or French!" We both said at the same time.

"If I'm correct," I claimed. "You usually defeated me in French. By a landslide."

"Maybe, but you were the undefeated champion in Latin, for what that's worth," he retorted.

"That seems like ages ago, how long has it been?"

"Around ten years, I believe."

There was silence, and Philip sighed. He seemed to have released some of the tension he had inside him, and I was glad my company was doing him well. If I could distract him for just a moment of the high amount of pain and confusion he was experiencing, that seemed like enough.

Philip turned his head to me and, once again, spoke:

"Thank you, Miss Burr. This helped me clear my mind a bit. It hadn't stopped ringing with thoughts since yesterday."

"Anytime."

"You know, I left my house early this morning. I couldn't stand being there another minute."

"You must be exhausted," I said, worried for him.

"I wish that was the only thing I was right now."

His eyes sunk once more. In order to pull him out of it, I found myself asking him the first question that came to the top of my mind.

"So, Mr. Hamilton, have you just been in the park the entire day?"

"More or less."

I nodded. "I guess I would have done the same," I replied.

"I left as early as I could so I could avoid running into my father," he proceeded to tell me, engrossed in his story. "Turns out that was completely unnecessary, as he didn't even come home last night. Apparently, he slept at his office."

"Which means, you haven't seen him since you found out?"

He shook his head.

"If I'm completely honest with you, I'm dreading that moment," he murmured.

"I can imagine," I paused. "Do you know when that would be?"

"Not really. I doubt he's exactly considered welcome in the house at the present time."

"Well, perhaps that means you'll have a couple of days until it happens, to prepare yourself for it."

"Perhaps," he echoed. "Especially if I continue to come here to disappear during the day."

We spent some time walking in silence, but one that wasn't filled with unsaid things. From time to time, people would pass by us and I would notice the way they looked at Philip, or how they would exchange whispers. Some of them were even people we were acquainted with, but still, they would limit themselves to a quick nod of the head at most.

I think Philip noticed this too. I could tell because his head hung lower every time we would walk past somebody.

The sun was beginning to set, and I knew it was my time to go home. Otherwise, my mother would worry.

As I began to say my goodbye, Philip interrupted me.

"Miss Burr, I would not like to abuse your kindness, so do say no if you consider I've stepped over a line. But, would it be too much to ask you to come again tomorrow? It's just that… you see, I'll probably be here all day. And I appreciated your company so much today."

My body froze, but my mind knew exactly how to answer.

"I wouldn't mind at all."

"Thank you, Miss Burr," he smiled with gratitude. "In the same tree where we met, is that alright?"

I nodded. "Sure. And please, call me Theodosia."

It was his turn to nod in affirmation. "Thank you again, Theodosia."

I smiled.

"I will see you tomorrow, Philip."


	8. Chapter 7

The next day, I wrapped some pastries around a tablecloth and hid them in my coat's pocket. I figured Philip would be hungry, considering what he'd told me the day before about spending the entire day out of his house.

"I hope you like these," I said as I sat next to him at the foot of the tree and pulled the food out.

He looked at them, unsure he'd understood.

"Are these for me?"

"Yes, because you've probably been here all day. I thought you might be hungry?"

He smiled. "Thank you, Theodosia. This is so kind of you."

The conversation seemed to flow with much more ease that afternoon. As if there weren't any matters either of us were afraid to bring to light.

As Philip ate, we talked about how the last few hours had gone for him. I asked him if he'd seen his father. He answered he hadn't. I asked him if he was more comfortable than yesterday with the idea of seeing him eventually. He answered he was, slightly.

I also asked him how his mother was, which if I'm honest, I was completely afraid to hear. He answered she was devastated, which broke me as I imagined it would. I just couldn't picture sweet Mrs. Hamilton like that.

He continued to tell me he felt bad for not being able to stay by her side. He told me he wished he could be stronger for her. That way, maybe he could stay home and help take care of his siblings. Help distract the younger ones, the ones who weren't able to understand what was happening. Maybe that way, he could take a load off her shoulders, even if it was a minuscule one.

He told me the reason why he couldn't was because of his reluctance to seeing his mother like that.

When it was time for me to leave, he decided to go home as well, to check on his mother.

We agreed to see each other again the next day.

And the next.

And the next.


	9. Chapter 8

Around the fifth day we met, Philip told me he had seen his father the night before. He didn't talk much about how it unfolded. He did say his father apologized, and that he couldn't manage to shoot back at him with anything.

"A part of me didn't want to, and another simply couldn't," was all he said. He was at a particular loss for words that day.

I told him that maybe everything his father needed to hear, he had probably already heard, to which he agreed. After all, both his mother and his aunt, who had come to visit in support of her sister, surely voiced to him everything he ought to know.

I also told him it did not matter if he could not say anything to him. It was never something he was supposed to do. I do not know whether he agreed with me on that particular thought.


	10. Chapter 9

A week had passed, and Philip wasn't spending the entire day out of his house anymore. In fact, he stopped doing that by our third encounter, if I remember correctly. Sure, he would take a walk by himself once in a while, but mostly, he was around to help his mother in whatever way he could. If I may say, I felt extremely proud of him for this.

Other than his occasional strolls, the only time he would be out would be that of our arranged meetings. Those had become routine. We had even developed a system to cover them and make sure our respective families wouldn't suspect of us leaving the house every day at the same time with no apparent reason. So, instead of saying I was out for pointless walks on a daily basis, somedays I would say I was leaving to buy bread, which would ensue a trip to the bakery. Others, I'd say I wanted to find fruits at the market, or vegetables, or even flowers.

Somedays, we'd go to the bakery or the market together, but only in days where there weren't many people around. Most of the time, we'd go in turns, or I'd go and he would wait for me at the park. You see, he did not need an excuse as much as I did, considering that in his house they weren't worrying that much about his whereabouts at the time. There were… bigger concerns, clearly. In mine, however, being gone would have been something easy to notice. I was terrified of my mother asking why I was leaving for walks so much all of a sudden, or if there was someone I was meeting.

The reason for that, of course, was that even mentioning Philip Hamilton would have been problematic. That was something Philip and I could agree in. Even though there was nothing inherently wrong with us meeting, our fathers would have definitely frowned upon it. It was one thing to be polite to one another when we were forced to interact, but it was completely different to purposefully become friends.

Especially at that time, Dad was wary of any mention of the Hamiltons around the house. The scandal was still fresh and their name, still quite stained. Philip, on the other hand, didn't want to bring any other reason for distress to the household, as small as it would have seemed.

That was why, whenever we met, we tried to be seen in public places as little as possible. One could never be too cautious.


	11. Chapter 10

It was a sunny, lovely day. I was waiting for Philip to arrive to our spot under the tree. When he did, he seemed upset, considering he was grunting with every step that he took until he sat down.

"Good day, Theo," he said flatly.

"Philip," I replied. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head. "Do people really think I cannot hear them when they mock my father as I pass them?"

"Is that still happening?" Sadly, it was a common occurrence.

"It hasn't stopped."

"I'm so sorry, Philip. I wish they could understand it's none of their business."

"I hate that my mother's name is on everyone's lips."

I looked at him as he fiddled with the grass around him. That anger that was contained inside of him was one that would have to demise gradually, but it would require a lot of patience from him.

As if he had read my mind, he asked me:

"What do you do when you're angry about something?"

"Me?" he nodded. "Not much. When I'm home, I go somewhere I can be alone, I guess. I stare at a window. I look at the sky. Sometimes, I try to find shapes in the clouds."

He raised his eyebrows, playfully. "Do you?"

"I do," I chuckled. "I try to focus on how their edges change and how their shape shifts. It gives me something else to think about."

"I see," he turned his head upward, focused. "For instance, that one over there," he pointed towards a cloud in the sky. "It looks like a spoon, doesn't it? Am I doing this right?"

I looked at him and nodded.

We spent the rest of the day pointing at clouds and thinking of objects that resembled them.


	12. Chapter 11

There were very few people in the market. Hence, we thought there would be no problem with going together to buy the apples I had told my mother I was going to get.

That day, the people's glances felt quite piercing, quite judgmental. I could tell Philip was trying his hardest to ignore them, and so was I. He kept asking me questions about my day, about my family, about the last dinner I had been to. You see, due to the recent events in his family, he hadn't attended any social gatherings in a while, so I was his source on them.

I was trying my best to distract him. I rambled as we walked down the streets, being accompanied by the day's last rays of sunlight. They peeked through the rooftops and found their way to the ground in uneven patches, so we would walk across and out of them. They would hit Philip's curls and make his head seem as if it was surrounded by dainty, golden-colored air. Under that light, he seemed to have more freckles in his face than the ones he usually had, even though I knew that was impossible. They had looked the same ever since he was a kid.

At one point, I had to stop talking upon noticing Philip's somber expression. He looked over my shoulder, towards somewhere behind me. I could hear whispers coming from that direction as well.

"It is him, isn't it?"

The voices were low, but sharp.

I looked at Philip, and tried to ask him if he was all right with my eyes. He didn't seem to notice.

They kept muttering comment after comment, and Philip was getting a little tenser with each of them.

"Well, they lost their chance to occupy the White House."

"Thankfully. Just imagine the women who would have been parading through it."

I wanted to tell him not to listen to them, to ignore them. I wanted to tell him we could leave at that second. But before I could do any of those things, he was already striding towards them.

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

He was furious, his voice dry and cutting. The men stopped their conversation and stared at him. Some of them looked somewhat amused.

"Are you intending to defend your father, Mr. Hamilton?"

"I'm intending for you to stop talking about him," Philip shot back.

"That's impossible, I am afraid, after what your father did. Respect ought to be earned."

"Keep my family's name out of your mouth," he said, raising his voice.

The men had gone from being entertained to being challenged, which could be understood by the growing tension in the environment and the hardening of their expressions.

"Well, it seem the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, now."

"As impetuous as his father. Not hard to expect."

"Philip," I finally reacted, and gave a couple of steps towards where he was standing, until I positioned myself in front of him. "Let's go. This isn't worth it."

He lowered his sight until he found mine. He seemed to be so disperse, and confused about what to do.

"Come on. Let's go," I whispered.

He gave a small nod and we proceeded to walk down the street until we reached a corner. There, I turned onto the small side street on our right, one that was narrow and had no people walking across it. I figured he could use a minute of tranquility to compose himself. I turned my head to make sure he was following me. He was one step behind mine.

Once we were away from all the chaos, as we were standing next to each other, I asked:

"Are you all right?"

"Can you believe those people?"

"No, I can't. Are you all right?"

"Who do they think they are?"

"They don't deserve a reaction from you, Philip."

"Did you hear the things they said?"

"I did," I stood in front of him and looked him in the eye. He needed to understand what I was about to say. "And none of them were true."

For the first few seconds, he said nothing. There was silence. I didn't know how to get him to calm down. He surely was not achieving it, his breath being heavy and uneven.

"What if I am, though? What if I am like him?"

I shook my head.

"That was a mistake he made. There is no reason, Philip, why you would ever make the same mistakes as him."

"But all my life, I've…"

"Philip," I took a deep breath. "The way I see it, you certainly are your father's son. But that only means you have every ounce of his intelligence and cleverness."

I paused and looked at him to make sure he was following my idea.

"And also, you are your mother's son. Your mother is without a doubt the kindest person I've ever met. That has to be worth for something."

With that, he seemed to calm down.


	13. Chapter 12

_Well, I heard you've got a special someone on the side, Burr._

 _What are you trying to hide, Burr?_

Later that night, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the previous hours. In my mind, all the images of Philip I had compiled from that day kept coming back repeatedly, one after the other.

Philip looking down, confused, ashamed, somewhat scared. Philip looking me in the eye, heartbroken, anguished, with a million questions and not a single answer. Phillip listening to me as I talked, the rays of sunlight shining on him, illuminating him.

I paced back and forth around the room as I wondered if I had said the right words to him. I absentmindedly ate my supper, or at least pretended I did, because I was not hungry at all and I had barely touched my food.

When my mother asked me if I was all right, the only thing I could say was that I felt indisposed as I looked away and fiddled with the edges of my sleeve. Unsure if my answer had convinced her, I couldn't help but wonder why I was feeling so puzzled. Why had I felt the need to lie? Was I really that terrible at lying?

Laying in my bed that night, one last image of Philip emerged into my head. Calmed, showing the hint of a smile of gratitude. Released. My stomach sunk at the realization I had contributed to that smile. I found myself well into a grin of my own, in the middle of the darkness.

All these could have been considered isolated events. What I am sure could not be attributed to chance was to have dreamed of him that night. When I woke up in the middle of the early hours of the morning with the image of him still fresh in my mind, that was when I finally had to ask myself.

 _What is happening to me?_


	14. Chapter 13

One day at a time, things seemed to regain their normalcy, and so did Philip. This did not mean that life was ever the same for the Hamiltons after what happened to them, but simply, it went on and they all tried their best to go on with it.

At one point, we stopped meeting daily in favor of doing so only a couple of days a week, due to the fact we both had other commitments. We did, however, begin to coincide again at all kinds of events, as Philip had reentered the social scene. The same couldn't be said of his parents, but of course, that in particular was meant to take more time.

Vestiges of his old self began to show themselves again. With the passage of days, they became more and more predominant. He would laugh, and chatter, and tell stories, all while projecting confidence and zest.

And, to my own dismay, I would catch myself staring with wonder.

* * *

We sat at a large dining table at the Rowland residence. As per usual, I was there with my mother and father. Philip Hamilton was there on his own, in representation of his family, if you will.

The evening had consisted of the usual greetings and small conversations with both my mother's acquaintances and those of my own. When we greeted Philip upon his arrival, I made sure I appeared nonchalant and casual. We barely exchanged the necessary amount of words to seem cordial.

I was trying my hardest to keep up with the conversation that was taking place around me. I'm sure the people who were seating around me must have been lovely. I'm also certain the chit-chat must have been very interesting. Sadly, I do not remember most of it. My head was elsewhere, making it impossible to keep track.

He was at the other side of the room, and just like in the old times, he was lost in conversation with a young, perky, pretty woman. I could not stop peeking at the direction he was in. Of course, I had to do it discreetly. Of course, I had to pretend I was completely unaware of this. I had to pretend I wasn't even registering it, because why would I have?

My father couldn't know we had grown close. What's more, he could not find my constant glances towards him suspicious. That's why I was trying my best to be discrete. Was that why?

Well, that was certainly the main reasons. If there were others, I didn't care for them, nor they deserved my thoughts.

* * *

"Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Burr?"

I turned my head to my side, where the voice was coming from.

"I am. What about you, Mr. Hamilton?" I tried not to show too much excitement in my tone.

"The dinner was outstanding. Well, except for the prunes. I hate them," he grimaced jokingly.

I laughed. "They're not my favorite, either."

The evening was coming to an end. Some of the guests had already begun to say their goodbyes. I was standing by the back of the room observing the scene, waiting for my parents to say we were to leave as well. I had not even seen him come, being as lost in thought as I was, as well as quite resigned about his whereabouts.

After a pause, he asked:

"So, Miss Burr, have you any other plans for this evening?"

"No, I don't, but it is late as it is. What about you?"

"I don't, either. I will probably go home, write some poetry, perhaps. I am feeling quite inspired, you know," he said playfully.

"Are you?" I played along. "You still have to show me your poems. Don't think I have forgotten about that."

He had told me a long time ago he had a habit of writing poetry, but he'd never actually shown me any of his works. He always seemed to find a way around the subject. That did not mean I would stop insisting.

"It's true," he conceded.

At that moment, I noticed my father direct a glance to where I was. It was a quick one, but I think it still confused him enough to double check. The second time he looked, he held his gaze a little longer.

I froze.

"My father just gave us a look," I said stiffly, tough I tried to appear relaxed. Instinctively, I fixated my eyes in a specific point in the wall across me.

"Is he looking now?" From the corner of my eye, I could tell Philip was also staring into nothingness.

"I don't know. I am too afraid to look, because if I look, and he's looking…"

"That would be suspicious, wouldn't it."

"It would."

"Let's disperse."

I nodded. "Very well," I said as I curtseyed. "I wish you a good evening, Mr. Hamilton."

"Good evening to you, Miss Burr," he responded with a bow.

I walked away and joined an all-new conversation, trying to seem collected and as if nothing had happened.


	15. Chapter 14

Later that night, my father and I sat in our drawing room. My mother had retired to her room early due to feeling slightly indisposed, leaving both of us as each other's only company. Although it was something we did often, I was feeling particularly dreadful about it that evening. I was nervous about Dad bringing up in conversation what he had seen in the previous hours. I wished I could have just escaped to my room, but I feared doing so right after Mom would have seemed suspicious. I didn't want my father to think I had anything to hide to him. Therefore, I decided I would stay for a short time before I could retire with an excuse of my own.

But of course, things going my way would have been a little too perfect.

"Theo, I saw you talking with Philip Hamilton at the dinner," he said casually.

At least, he didn't seem particularly recriminatory. I tried to rely on that.

"I was. He said a quick hello," I replied as nonchalantly as I could.

"You know, when I saw him, it surprised me how much he reminded me of his father. More than the usual, I mean."

Oh, what a subject to bring up.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It didn't take me long to realize why, though."

I looked attentively, encouraging him to continue.

"See, he's nineteen years old, like you are."

I nodded. "I guess so, yes."

"Well, that's how old his father was when I met him."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows.

For a moment, he stopped looking at me. Instead, he directed his gaze to the thin air. He wore a nostalgic expression on his face. I wondered what moments he was reminiscing about, when suddenly, he commented softly:

"Time flies, doesn't it."

"Indeed," I murmured.

"It seems like it was only yesterday we ourselves were the kids, being reckless. Well, I was never too reckless, but Alexander. That is an entirely different story."

"You've always been a prudent person. I took that from you."

As I said that last bit, I wondered, objectively, how prudent my last actions could have been considered. I strongly rejected answering.

"I used to ask myself all the time if I should be more like him. A couple of times, he even told me so."

"That you should be more like him?"

"That I should stand for what I believed in more. Or that I should fight for what I wanted."

"But I don't understand, Dad. Didn't you?"

"Not always. Sometimes, I just waited."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that, is there?" That was what most of my life had consisted of, and I didn't see the fault in it.

"To people like you and me, of our mindset, no. But to people like him, that can be considered one of the world's worst punishments."

I thought of Philip, and how he was always so restless. So insatiable.

"I see."

"That's why, when it came to the things him and I wanted, he fought for them, while I waited for them to come. That's also why he never understood my willingness to wait for your mother. He was very stubborn about how I should just 'go get her'." He air quoted the last bit.

"It's hard to think about you and Mr. Hamilton back in a time in which you weren't even married to Mom."

"Oh, but dear, there was such time."

I was glad the conversation had not gone at all where I feared it would. Instead, Dad was lost in his memories, nostalgically describing his days as a young man. I guessed seeing Philip last night really did unchain a series of thoughts within his mind.

Beyond that, it was nice to listen to my father's stories. They shed plenty of the light I needed.


	16. Chapter 15

Philip

I closed the door behind me. The house was dark and quiet, which allowed me to assume everybody had retired to their rooms. I made my way to mine, hoping to be able to write at least a couple of verses down. Who knew if I would.

As I walked down the hallway, I noticed a small amount of candlelight coming from one of the rooms I was to approach. Of course, it was my father's home office. It was not strange or unusual at all for him to still be there that late, while everyone else slept.

He almost didn't notice me when I passed by his entryway. He was immersed in the thousands of papers that surrounded him, writing without a pause. His hand always had trouble keeping up with his mind.

"Hello, Pops," I murmured from the door, cautious not to startle him.

"Oh, hi, Philip. You're back," he said as he quickly looked up to see me. "How was it?"

"I found it quite agreeable."

I decided to omit the couple of sharp glances I received during the evening. I knew that's why he was asking me, but I did not want to raise the subject. Honestly, already at that point, I just wanted to leave it behind and move on.

There was a short silence. I was about to wish him good night and leave, when he said, without lifting his eyes from the paper he was working on:

"Son, I have been meaning to ask you something for a while."

That surprised me. I gave a couple of steps inside the room.

"Go ahead," I said, skeptically.

He looked at me once more, seeming to take in air before he asked:

"Have you had someone on your mind lately?"

I could feel my body go tense. I could also feel every ounce of effort I made to conceal it.

"What do you mean?" I replied.

He lifted his head and kept his eyes on me.

"You know what I mean."

I did. I bought some time with a pause.

"Not that I'm aware of, no," I said casually. "May I ask why you are asking?"

"Well, son, you've seemed… distracted lately."

"Well, that could be due to plenty of other causes," I retorted.

I didn't think it necessary to actually name them, as I was sure he could guess them without trouble.

"That's true," he nodded. "And actually, for the better, because the first piece of advice I was going to offer you was not to fall in love so young."

"Well, I didn't-"

"However, if you had fallen in love, my second advice to you would have been to go for her."

I furrowed my brows. "Pops, when has it ever been as simple as that?"

"It might not be simple, but it's what must be done. It definitely works more than the static alternative ever has."

"Does it?"

"Of course. Listen, son, throughout my life I have known people who would never fight for what they wanted. Until this day, I haven't been able to understand them."

"Well, not everybody has to see the world the same way as you do, Pops. It's not everyone's interest."

"True. I know that for a fact. But I also know that when they change their mindset even in the slightest, that's when they get the results they so greatly desired."

"If you say so. You sound like you know what you're saying. I don't doubt you do."

"I do. All the previous times I have given that piece of advice it has worked in favor of who received it, actually," he sounded smug as he said it.

"I would love to hear about them one day," I said, ready to retire, this time for certain.

"Aaron Burr comes to mind."

I froze, feeling heavy as bricks against the ground.

"I doubt that he owes you any of the achievements he might have reached in the romantic plane."

"None other than his current wife."

"No!" I said, incredulously.

"Admittedly, of course, whether that union was thanks to me or not, depends on who you ask."

"I would not expect anybody to ever admit to such thing," I conceded.

At least, in regards to me, I knew I would never do it, despite the way my father's words were drilling in my mind.


	17. Chapter 16

Theodosia

It was a hot, bright summer day, but I was not planning to enjoy it yet. My mother and I sat at our dining table, having lunch. I heard her ramble about her day, the upcoming social events, and the many subjects of her most recent causeries.

"And apparently," she said, as if that was just another of the idle chats' topics. "Mr. George Eacker gave an appalling speech yesterday in which he insulted Mr. Hamilton."

I did not know how to react, although I should have at that point. I decided to stop her and subtly encourage her to give me more details.

"Are you sure of this?"

"I am. Mrs. Dane told me all about it this morning. She said he was quite resounding and scathing".

"Oh, how awful," I thought aloud, to which Mom agreed.

I was supposed to meet Philip that afternoon. I could only imagine the state I would find him in, as he never took with ease people commenting on his father. Even all these months later, it still bothered him.

I was ready to reassure him and to distract him as I always did. I expected a couple of words of mine to do the trick. They had so many other times before.

I shouldn't have overestimated my ability to influence him like I did. I should have known he would have already made a decision of his own.

* * *

I was waiting for him in our most hidden place. When the summer began with its clear days, and people began to frequent the park a lot more, we decided to change our meeting point from the tree next to the walkway to the small woods passing the stream that crosses part of the park.

I saw him arrive, walking from afar. He didn't seem collected. His expression was heavy, perturbed. I ran to him.

"Philip, I heard about Eacker's speech. Are you all right?"

"Theo," he was breathing heavily. "I went to look for him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I heard what he said, and I was furious, Theo. He made a speech, in front of everybody. And I was furious. So I went out and tried to find him, and I did. I found him, and I said all these things to him, and he said things back."

He ran out of breath with every word he spoke, incapable of shaping his ideas the way he would have wanted to. He was obfuscated and disperse.

"Philip, try to calm down," I said steadily, slowly. Almost as a whisper. I looked into his eyes, trying to anchor him to the present. I slowed down the pace of my own breath with the intention that he would emulate it. "Walk me through what happened."


	18. Chapter 17

A duel.

Philip got himself into a duel.

He told me he found Eacker in the theater and confronted him about what he had said. Eacker shot back by accusing him of appearing to be identical to his father. They might have just handled it outside if it wasn't because Eacker wanted to finish seeing his show.

So, of course, the only possible solution was to meet the next day at the break of dawn in Weehawken and settle it with pistols. The duel had even been formally agreed upon by their seconds.

I was feeling sick to my stomach, but I tried my best to keep myself together for him.

"Are you certain you want to do this?"

"What other choice do I have?"

"Do you even know how to duel? Have you even dueled before?"

"I haven't," he shook his head. "But before coming here, I went to see my father. He told me what to do."

I felt slightly skeptical of this. What could his father have told him that would help the situation?

"And? What did he say?"

"That I should aim my pistol towards the sky, so he would be compelled to do the same."

I felt nonplussed. I was glad he did not intend to shoot him, but also terrified, incredibly terrified, of what could happen to him. There were so many things that could go wrong. I didn't even want to allow myself to imagine them.

I absentmindedly stared at Philip, trying to make sense of what was happening. A part of me was absolutely convinced it couldn't be real. It simply couldn't.

But his voice was.

"Theo, say something."

"I don't know what to say… I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you to hurt anybody."

"I won't."

Although I could tell he was trying his best not to show it, the fear that still lingered behind his eyes kept me uneasy.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," he attempted to say nonchalantly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

"Are you sure nothing else can be done?"

"I am."

"Does Mrs. Hamilton know?"

"No. She doesn't have to find out."

We still stood in front of each other, right in that spot in the middle of the woods, a thousand thoughts echoing in each of our minds.

I wish there was more I could have done. I wish there was more I could have helped him with. I hated the idea of helplessly standing around while all of this unfolded, but I certainly did not know how to do anything other than that.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I finally said.

He looked down on me with a wistful smile.

"Would you take a walk with me?"

Of course I did. I worried about the walkway being too full with people, given the fact it was summer and the day a lovely, sunny one, so we settled for a stroll around the woods.

We didn't say much. There was not much to say, anyway.

Before I left, I begged him to be smart, and cautious, and to stay calm. I assured him everything would be all right, although I had no idea if it would. For the first time, he did not answer me with a thousand words, as he would have done in any other occasion. Instead, his eyes were the only thing that spoke. In them, I could see the fear, the dread, the anger, the sorrow, the willingness to live. All of them at once, unable to express themselves.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Go ahead," he murmured.

"Can we meet tomorrow afternoon, after all is ended?"

"I'd like nothing more."

"Great," I nodded. "Philip, I will be waiting right here for you, and you better not disappoint me," I tried to say playfully, though it came more as a cry. "We will celebrate that you made it out just fine."

It was his turn to nod. His eyes became filled with tears of overwhelming fear, and mine followed suit.

I embraced him and he embraced me back. I tried to capture how it felt. I tried to somehow frame that moment in my mind. I tried with all my strength. Although all I can remember is the buzzing of my heart and the unrest and uncertainty that saturated the air around us, I've always considered it more than enough.

He held my head and said softly, only for me to hear:

"I will see you tomorrow, Theo."


	19. Chapter 18

Philip

 _Dear Theodosia,_

 _What to say to you?_

It was late at night. I sat at my desk wondering whether I should write something down or not. It felt lugubrious to write my own will, especially because I was not going there to die. I had every intention of making it out alive.

I wondered whether I should write down a goodbye to my loved ones. I could not think of anything more sinister, but what if I never saw them again?

I wondered which my mother would prefer. Would she rather not have any last words from me, as if my death had been improvised and spontaneous? Or would she rather have them, knowing that I was so sure of my own death that I wrote them for her?

I thought of all the things that might forever go unsaid. Should I say them? Should I wait until I get my second chance at life, to profess them aloud?

I thought of Theodosia, and all I should have said to her.

I prayed for a chance to do so. At some point during our walk around the woods earlier that day, I decided that if I managed to get out alive, it would be for the sole purpose of telling her how I felt.

I decided I wouldn't care anymore about what our families might think. I would prove my father wrong if he ever tried to oppose it. If she would have me, I would fight for it. For her.

However, the unremitting doubt crept. What if I didn't have a chance to tell her at all?

The blank paper stood in front of me. I knew I would regret not letting her know, in whatever way I could. I also knew I had a particular ability with the written word. I envisioned the letter I hadn't been brave enough to write yet.

I could give it to a messenger tomorrow morning, before I left, and ask him to deliver it to her the next day, once the duel was part of the past. By the time she would receive it, I would be either alive and released or dead and gone. In one of the scenarios, we could fight for each other. In the other… at least she would know.

I was aware of the fact that I should not be too open in what I wrote, out of fear it would end in the hands of the wrong person and ruin the progress I intended to make. It had to be a subtle message, but one that was sufficient.

I took my quill and completely blanked. What could I even say? How could I even begin to put it into words? I guess I was not that good with them after all.

I thought of her. Of how she looked under a tree's shadow. How she walked at a quick pace. I thought of how much she kept quiet, although one look to her eyes was enough to know everything she was thinking. I thought about how she looked at the things she loved, and how she found joy in moonlit nights and strawberry pastries. I thought of her in the midst of cold, crisp air and in the amplitude of a warm summer day.

I thought of her back when we were only kids. I thought of her in all the balls we attended, all the times I looked at her, but I didn't see her. I thought of her in the middle of a garden, escaping the chaos, casually having encountered one another for a brief minute. I thought of how one could tell she was in her element.

With that in mind, I knew what to do.


	20. Chapter 19

Theodosia

I couldn't get any sleep. When the first rays of sunlight crept into my window, my heart's pace was such I feared it would jump out of my chest. It wasn't long until I began to feel chest pains and until the air I tried to inhale was insufficient. I knew it was happening, and I couldn't dismiss the anxiety that fact produced in me.

I sat next to my window, watching the sunrise. In my mind, I kept going over how it all must have been unfolding.

I imagined Philip rowing across the Hudson. I imagined him arriving at their arranged spot. The formalities: the second's last negotiations, the doctor ensuring deniability by turning around, the paces. I imagined everything until I couldn't imagine anymore. From that point onward, I had no idea what had occurred.

By the time the sun was fully up, I knew it had all ended. Whatever had happened, had taken place already.

Once more, all I had to do was wait.

Sitting next to the window, the sky in all its celeste glory, I couldn't help but think what a lovely day it was. The only clouds that were in the sky were snow white, almost transparent, and they floated lightly and effortlessly.

In an effort to distract myself, I engaged in the task of trying to find shapes in them. I did it in his honor. It was the only thing that made sense to do.

* * *

Philip

The pain was unbearable. It had spread all throughout my body.

I was slipping in and out of consciousness. I couldn't stand up. I felt too weak.

I was laying down. I was back in the boat. Those things I knew.

I also knew we were moving, because the clouds in the sky above me were passing by quickly, arriving and leaving.

I thought of Theodosia.

If she were here with me, she would tell me not to think about the pain. She would tell to maintain my focus in the outlines of the sky.

That's why, through the sharpness of my agony, I tried to find shapes in the clouds.


	21. Chapter 20

Theodosia

The afternoon finally arrived. I sat under a tree in the woods.

Every time I heard the rustling of a leaf, or the wind blowing I thought it was him coming.

I could not stop imagining how it would feel to see him in perfect condition. I indulged myself by thinking how it would feel to run to him, embrace him and exclaim, "You're fine! You're alive!" amid tears. I indulged myself by thinking it might signify a new beginning, one where we didn't take things for granted.

I couldn't stop thinking about how maybe it was time to finally be completely honest with myself. It was time to allow myself to answer the question that had been appearing in my mind since some months ago: _What is happening to me?_

Well, I might just know.

However, as the minutes passed and the sky began to lose its brightness and colors, the anticipation turned into dread.

 _He should be here already. He wouldn't be late for this._ Is what I told myself.

I tried to think through my racing heart, my shaking limbs and my short breaths.

In the best-case scenario, he was still alive, but injured, which would explain why he could not come. In the worst… well, I didn't even need to give that one thought.

* * *

I returned home. I could only think that, if he was still alive, Philip would surely send a messenger so that I would know that, although he could not come to me, he was fine. That was, if he was conscious enough.

The idea of showing up at the Hamilton residence crossed my mind a couple of times. Of course, I discarded it quite quickly. It would not have only been extremely overstepping, but also, it would have raised an incredible amount of suspicion.

I kept whatever hope I had left for some of the night, but I could feel it demise as the hours passed by. Once I was among the early hours of the morning, I just knew it.

I had to brace myself for the bad news.


	22. Chapter 21

It had been another sleepless night. My head felt heavy and my eyes, burning. My body was drained as well, from all the times its heart had raced and its pulse had quickened.

From downstairs, I heard my mother return from her morning trip to the market. I knew it was coming.

I sat in my bed. I kept my eyes fixated towards the window. Since yesterday, I hadn't stopped looking at the sky.

I hear her murmur downstairs. Her tone wasn't her usual, calm and pleased one. I knew it more than ever.

I had gathered all my energy for that moment. So much so, that I hadn't really used it to feel anything else. Anything else other than dread, of course.

I heard her steps approach my room, and lastly, a knock on my door.

"Theo, can I come in?"

I tried to sound as casual as I could.

"Of course."

She opened the door and gave a few steps inside. From the way she carried herself, I could tell she looked somewhat dejected.

"Dear, I just heard some terrible news."

Whatever was left of me received the blow.


	23. Chapter 22

_If I could spare his life  
If I could trade his life for mine  
He'd be standing here right now  
And you would smile, and that would be enough_

I wish I could have ran. I wish I could have had somewhere to go. By no means was I stepping foot in the park.

All I could do was walk around my block. I did it quickly, practically jogged, so many times that I lost count.

My mother's voice still echoed in my ears. How she told me he had died. That he had died in a duel, as if it was my first time hearing any of it. How, word on the street was, he had died not long after it. He had been shot and it had been fatal. There was nothing to do.

Apparently, it was the day's talk of the town. Everybody was commenting on it. I knew how much he hated being the subject of backbiting. I wanted to demand everyone to keep his name out of their mouths.

I did an outstanding job hiding my feelings until my mother left the room. While she was there, all I expressed were the usual pities. I showed lament, but I didn't show heartbreak. That I saved for when I was alone.

Mom also told me she had heard both Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton arrived in time to say goodbye to him. He had them both by his side. If anything was to comfort me, was that Philip had his mother's hand to hold during those last minutes, in which he must have been so, incredibly terrified.

However, if anything was to break my heart a little more, was that Mrs. Hamilton had to watch her son die. I could not even think of her without having tears fall down my face.

I would have thought it impossible for both pain and numbness to coexist in such way, for them to be felt equally as much. Turns out, they can both sting simultaneously, in their own, unique, cruel way.


	24. Chapter 23

I was back at my house's doorstep, a million thoughts in my head. From the corner of my eye, I saw a man walk towards my direction.

"Miss Burr?" I heard him say.

I turned to him and saw him carefully. He was rummaging through a bag that hung at his side. A messenger.

"Yes?" I asked, expectant.

"I have a note for you. It was requested to be given to you directly," he said, as he pulled out a small envelope and handed it to me.

I took the envelope and examined it. Nothing was written on it that I could see. Shock overwhelmed me, although I was too conscious of the fact that I should not get ahead of myself.

I opened my mouth to ask something, anything. However, before I could, the man spoke:

"It's from the late Mr. Hamilton," he said pitifully.

"Oh," was all I could manage to say. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

The man bowed and left silently, at a quick pace. I checked behind my back and took a look at the windows of the house, to make sure nobody had seen us. The coast was clear.

I hid the envelope in my pocket and hurried up the stairs, towards the safety of my room.

There, I sat at the edge of my bed and saw it one more time. I took a deep breath. This was the very last of Philip.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a small piece of paper that was inside it. As I did so, something else came with it and fell to the ground.

I looked down, to where it fell. It was a single aster.

I held it in my hands and sobbed once more. The image of him underneath the moonlight, surrounded by a garden full of flowers and a dazzling ball taking place behind us came into my mind.

I yearned for that memory. The aster, small and delicate, remained perfectly still, being held by my hand. A perfect pop of lavender in the middle of so much darkness.

With my other hand, as shaky as it was, I unfolded the piece of paper. My vision was blurred by the tears that accumulated in my eyes, still, I squinted until I could find letters in each of his traces. I began to read.

 _Dear Theodosia,_

 _Because you love asters, and I lack the words to express how I feel the same for you._


	25. Epilogue

The Hamiltons moved upstate. I imagine they couldn't bear the idea of remaining in the place their son lived while he did no more. A part of me wished to still have them around. I yearned to see Philip in each of them, but another, more rational one, knew that them not being present was for the best, both for them and for me.

I spent the next few months continuously dumbfounded and nonplussed. Thankfully, I could attribute it to the fact that my father had announced that he was going to run for president. That alone would have been a load to process, anyway. My family seemed to understand. They gave me my space, and blamed my absentmindedness on the stress that a presidential campaign like the one my father intended to carry out would imply.

One day at a time, I decided to change my mindset. The choice was one that crept like a tremor, silent at first, but firm and definitive in the end. I would no longer wait for things. From that day onward, I would walk towards them. I would attempt to get them.

Up until then, waiting had only left me with an incredible amount of wasted time and people taken for granted. As much as I understood why I needed to wait before, it was not something for me anymore.

Waiting gave me beautiful memories. It gave me laughter and haven; it gave me the warmth of sunlight. But it wouldn't give me anything else. My luck was over.

I immortalized the aster in a small, glass frame. There, it became dry, but never less beautiful, just like my memory of him, and the sorrow, and the grief.

Life became different once I considered anything to be within reach. Once I decided I could attempt to get a hold of anything. It was full of moments of bravery, and also of undying fear. At least, it felt like life.

And if I ever needed a pause or a moment to gather strength, I always had the clouds in the sky to look up to.


End file.
